


Everybody Wants a Flame

by elysiumwaits



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Adult Harley Keener, Adult Peter Parker, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Harley Keener, BAMF Peter Parker, Canon-Typical Violence, Creepy Behavior by an Original Character, Flirting, Getting Together, Guns, Kidnapping, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Protective Peter Parker, Winter, mcuchristmasexchange2019, no beta we don't die tho because endgame didn't happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22010407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elysiumwaits/pseuds/elysiumwaits
Summary: Harley accidentally tells the world that he's secretly Spider-Man at the annual Winter Charity Auction and Gala. Which is a problem, because Harleyisn'tSpider-Man. Peter is.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Harley Keener/Peter Parker, minor Tony Stark/Stephen Strange - Relationship
Comments: 20
Kudos: 395
Collections: MCU Christmas Exchange





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AndrewXavier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndrewXavier/gifts).



> Harley and Peter are kind of a nebulous age around 19. There is mention here of some villains from the Amazing Spider-Man comics, but you really don't need knowledge of those characters to know that they're the bad guys - or at least I tried to set it up so you wouldn't need it!
> 
> I kind of glossed over the IronStrange, just because I'm pretty unfamiliar with Dr. Strange as a character, so I hope that's okay.
> 
> Will be three chapters total, posted in the next couple of days because they still need to be edited.
> 
> Title is from "Bonfire Heart" by James Blunt. 

Harley Keener is not Iron Man, and he's not Spider-Man.

People know that he's not Iron Man. Of course they know that. Everyone knows that Tony Stark is Iron Man, so Harley Keener can't be Iron Man. Besides, Harley Keener is the "mysterious Stark protege," according to tabloids, is "the young genius that Tony Stark somehow found and plucked from the backwoods of Tennessee." Harley Keener isn't a superhero, he's the unofficial heir to Stark Industries, the public face of the future, the "son that Tony Stark has secretly always wanted and never had."

There are a few things wrong with the tabloid articles, which Harley picks up because they amuse the holy hell out of him sometimes. One, he comes from a small town in Tennessee, yes, but they do have such things there like running water and Wi-Fi, so he really thinks that "backwoods" might be a little bit of an exaggeration. Two, Harley Keener isn't the "mysterious Stark protege," because he's too busy being the actual, not-that-interesting Stark protege, which means that he's mostly just trying to keep from blowing shit up in Tony's lab while working on some projects during his gap year before he actually goes to MIT. And third, Harley Keener can't be the "son that Tony Stark has secretly always wanted" because Tony Stark _has_ a son, even though the tabloids don't know it. 

His name is Peter Parker, and Harley is stupidly attracted to him. Peter Parker is also Spider-Man, but the tabloids don't know that either. Peter Parker is probably Tony Stark's best kept secret, and that includes the whole _thing_ he's got going on with Strange that he's trying to hide from literally everyone. As far as the world is concerned, Peter Parker is Tony's personal assistant, now that Pepper's running the company.

If Harley's being honest, he'd also like to hide Peter Parker away from the world for awhile. His reasons are far more scandalous, though, involving a lot of athleticism and a lot less clothing. He's got this whole flirty thing going on with Peter right now, and he's not quite sure where it's going so far but he has _high hopes_ , okay, even if it never seems to really get past the two of them just revving their engines at each other provocatively. It's fine, because he knows that Peter's stretched a little thin right now, so he can wait. As of right now, Harley's plans are centered around New York.

But that's beside the point, which is that Harley Keener literally isn't Iron Man or Spider-Man. 

No, actually, wait. That's not the point. 

The point is that Harley Keener _also_ isn't Iron Man _figuratively_ , meaning that he's not the hero, he's not the flashy guy out there shooting wannabe-world-dominating assholes with repulsors or saving people from aliens, all while wearing hot rod red and flashy gold. He's also not Spider-Man, out there doing good things under the cover of night for nothing more than a "thank you." He's a little selfish like that, if he's being honest. Self-aware in that he likes the reward that comes with recognition.

It's not that Harley is like a total jerk who doesn't want to help people. He's just not a superhero, he's not the person who naturally goes running _towards_ the alien invasion instead of _away_. He can even be an average, everyday kind of hero, like helping a little old lady cross the street or a lost child or something like that. He's just not able to go put on a suit and step in front of a bullet or a speeding train without having a full-blown panic attack. 

Harley is brave, to a point, when he needs to be. And then he's not, and he's fine with that.

He still helps. He helps by throwing in his two cents about the Iron Man suit and working on improvements when Tony opens up the floor to him. He helps by working on the Spider-Man suit, which he's done a lot lately, while Peter's passed out asleep on the couch in the workshop because he's exhausted from balancing Spider-Man and college and everything else involved in being a functioning young adult. Harley knows his strengths and his weaknesses, knows where he can be the most effective.

He can't exactly help with Dr. Strange's whole get-up, considering pretty much everything there is magical, but he would if he could, just because he knows Tony cares about Dr. Strange a lot. Not that Harley's supposed to know about Tony and Strange, even though they're pretty obvious about how much they're trying to act like there's nothing going on. Harley doesn't know if Peter knows though, because Harley's not quite sure how to bring it up and Peter hasn't brought it up, and it feels like just outright saying, "Hey, do you think your dad and Dr. Strange are banging?" wouldn't be the most tactful way to go about it.

Anyway. Harley Keener isn't a superhero, he's a mechanic - just like he reminded Tony of all those years ago in Tennessee. And he's fine with that, he really is. 

What he's _not fine with_ is this asshole journalist who is currently shoving a microphone into his face. It's the Winter Gala for the Maria Stark Foundation, and he's here because he feels like he has to be. Back when he'd agreed to this in the summer, it had sounded exciting - glitz and glamour in the original Stark Mansion, surrounded by actual celebrities, even a charity celebrity date auction. Most of the time, the Mansion functions as the headquarters of the Maria Stark Foundation. Tonight, it's decorated in tasteful silver and blue and lit up with fairy lights, camera flashes, and sheer star-power.

Honestly, Harley is still looking forward to it. He's just got to get through the gauntlet that is the red carpet.

"Harley Keener!" the journalist shouts, shrill and overly-friendly. 

It's Bella Silver, whom Harley is beyond just starting to dislike and well into actively avoiding. That's turning out to be difficult, as she seems to have a knack for always showing up just in time to catch Harley at these things. He used to like the attention, but Bella's ability to grate on his nerves is quickly souring his feelings toward events. He knows, though, that if he walks the stupid carpet, Tony doesn't deal with as much because some of the focus moves to Harley. Besides, as the public face of Stark Industries' future, he's got a certain obligation here, in his opinion. Bella's just an unfortunate annoyance, but he can handle it.

"Harley," Bella says. Her microphone is covered in rhinestones, and her formal dress has snowflakes made out of silver glitter and sequins all over it. She's catching the flash of every camera aimed their way, and not in a good way. Harley thinks that she has to be freezing, even with the tall patio heaters they've set up on the walk, because he's cold just looking at her. If he were a better person, he'd offer her his jacket, but she really doesn't need any encouragement. "It is _so_ good to see you attending the Maria Stark Foundation's Winter Charity Auction and Gala. Wow, that's a mouthful, huh?"

 _Mysterious Stark protege_ , Harley thinks, and pastes on what he's taken to calling his public smile, puts on a little of the Tennessee drawl that he's heard he's used in some interviews without meaning to. Now it's a weapon in his media arsenal. "I've told you, Ms. Silver, keep it professional when we're on the clock. I'm gonna need you to stick to Mr. Keener." She laughs like he's just told a joke. "Yeah, the Winter Charity Auction is a huge event, I'm happy to have been able to make it this year."

She smiles, simpering, and flips her long dark hair over her shoulder. Bella Silver would be attractive if Harley weren't hopelessly gay, and she weren't such a thorn in his side. Not that she knows that Harley's gay, of course. She probably doesn't even realize he finds her annoying. "Well, then, Harley," she kind of purrs, and she leans in even though she's got the microphone now. "Since we're sticking to a professional relationship here, why don't we take this opportunity to talk a little bit more what you do for Stark Industries?"

"It's less about what I do for Stark Industries and more about what I do for Tony," Harley says as the mic is shoved back into his face. It's both true and diplomatic, just like Pepper has trained him. "I'm not currently working on anything with Stark Industries, but Tony and I do have quite a few personal projects."

"Oh, now that is _interesting_ ," Bella says, and there's a flash somewhere of a camera. "We all know how protective Tony Stark is of his designs. Are you one of the lucky few that has been allowed to touch the Iron Man suit?" 

He has. Some of the redesign of the actual armor is Harley's work. "Of course not," he says with a laugh. "No, even I'm not that lucky." She waits expectantly, though, a beat passing without her moving the microphone away. "It's pretty common knowledge that I've done some other things for the superheroes around New York, but Iron Man is a little too important to let the Tennessee hick take a look at the details."

Finally, the microphone is pulled back. "By mentioning the other superheroes, are you referring to Spider-Man?"

That's been thrown around a few times. Harley has permission to confirm, since Spider-Man is known to be an associate of Iron Man. Still, he's itchy about bringing anything up at all about Peter, so he goes for short and simple. "I am, yes. I've had input on a few aspects of Spider-Man Suit recently." Another flash. Harley's been done with this interview since before it ever started.

Bella's dress catches the flash of another camera. Harley can't help the grimace that escapes him at the sudden bright glare. "Any specifics you can let us in on?" she asks, and if Harley could see anything amidst all the bright lights, they'd probably be glinting.

"No." It comes out much more terse than Harley intended. He should know better, of course, Bella's a vulture, and by the look on her face, she's zeroed in on his apparent sore spot. She opens her mouth, and Harley quickly leans in to chase the microphone before she can pull it away. "There's a lot of security around it, you understand. But none of that is the point of tonight. The Winter Charity Gala isn't about superheroes, it's about what we can do for the various facets under the Maria Stark Foundation's umbrella." He smiles again, tries his best to work the dimple.

"You're absolutely right, Harley," Bella says, as crisp and bubbly as ever. Harley wants to snatch his name out of her mouth. "So with the new format of the Winter Charity Gala, the celebrity auction is now on the second night. The word is that one of the charity auction prizes is a date night with you." 

"Yeah, that's correct." Safer territory here, the entire point of Harley coming to this. Back to work talk, instead of about Peter's suit. "As you mentioned, the Maria Stark Foundation has spread the Gala over three nights this year. Whoever is the highest bidder gets a date night on the third night with the celebrity." He wrinkles his nose a little, covers it with a smile. "I'm certainly not a celebrity, but I hear we got Ryan Reynolds in there."

There's another flash, and Harley looks over this time. What catches his eye, though, isn't the paparazzi's camera, but Peter, standing next to the network cameraman and tapping his wrist at Bella insistently. Harley grins, relieved. 

Bella doesn't seem to get the hint, though, or maybe just doesn't care. "And are you hoping to find love at this event, Harley?"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Silver," Peter says suddenly. Bella's composure breaks, and she shoots him a glare. "Mr. Keener needs to head inside now."

"Oh, Harley, you can spare a few more minutes, can't you?" she simpers. "I'll be bidding on you at the auction, of course. The chemistry we have is undeniable, you have to admit it."

"Bella, the day I admit we have chemistry is the day I admit I'm Spider-Man," Harley says with a laugh, and shoulders past her to escape down the carpet with Peter. He doesn't even care if she takes it as a joke, he just wants to get _away_. 

The rest of the carpet is a quick affair. Harley's more interesting than he used to be these days, but still not interesting enough to warrant a bunch of photos and interviews. He's not Tony Stark, after all, just Tony Stark-adjacent. It's only when they get up the stairs and into the foyer of the mansion that he breathes out a sigh of relief and starts to relax, even more so when Peter tugs at his sleeve and leads him to a quiet corner. The anxiety is better these days, but he appreciates the chance to take a moment and recover nonetheless.

"She's such a shark," Peter says, while Harley's tipping his head back against the cool wall for a brief moment. "It's like... blood in the water, and Bella's gonna frenzy."

Harley laughs quietly. He straightens up and opens his eyes again, opens his mouth to say something unkind about Bella Silver, and instead gets his first real look at Peter this evening. "You look good," he says, instead, completely without meaning to. 

That's fine, because it's true - Peter's suit is a dark blue, with a matching bow-tie against a slightly lighter blue shirt. There's a blue handkerchief in his jacket pocket with snowflakes on it, and even with the obviously expensive suit, Peter's hair is still slightly messy, and his cheeks are pink from the chill of the winter air they just escaped from. Harley thinks he's riding the line between unfairly attractive and outright adorable very well. 

"Oh. Thank you," Peter says, looking down at his own suit like he has no idea what he's wearing and is pleasantly surprised that it's not a disaster. He looks back up, eyes roving up Harley's suit as well - plain but expensive because Tony bought it, black on white with no tie. "You look... too." Peter clears his throat, and the pink of his cheeks goes from red. "I mean. You look good. Too. You always look good, though."

Harley grins. "Peter, usually when you see me, I'm covered in grease or motor oil, and I'm wearing a welding mask."

"That's not true," Peter replies, and he's grinning back at Harley now. "I also see you in the mornings when you've got the pillow marks on your face, and your hair's on one side of your head. And you stare at the milk in the fridge like it's going to just leap into your cereal bowl."

"Now that's not fair. You get up too early for me to see you like that very often." It's a crying shame, Harley thinks, because morning-Peter is adorable in a completely different way than woke-up-in-the-workshop-Peter is, and Harley's only seen it a couple of times.

"I get up at a normal, human time." Peter looks even better when he's smiling. "Nine is a normal, human time." He looks up at Harley again, and that couple of inches between them means that he can look up through his lashes. Which makes Harley's thoughts grind to a sudden halt, and he's starting to think Peter does that on purpose. "My point still stands. You _always_ look good."

The thing about flirting with Peter Parker is that Peter always starts out a little awkward, tripping over his words like he's not sure of them. Once he gets going, though, Harley's hooked by Peter's wit and sincerity. He can't help it. He's probably very close to head over heels, if he's not already. Peter gets more confident the more they do this song and dance, and one of these days, Harley's just going to lose it and pin Peter against the nearest surface and kiss him senseless.

Right now, the wall in the foyer of the Stark Mansion is looking awfully good, and Peter is looking at Harley like he's waiting for him to do something about it.

There's laughter, suddenly, loud and too close for comfort. They both look away from each other, toward the source of where a woman and her entourage are just coming in, heading for the ballroom. The moment, Harley realizes, is broken. 

Harley clears his throat. "What, uh," he starts, patting his pocket clumsily in an effort to find his phone. "What time is it?"

Peter looks down and takes a step back, fishing his own phone out before Harley can even get his hand in his pocket. He winces, looking up again guiltily. "We're late. Past fashionably and officially into just flaky."

"Well, come on, let's sneak in the back, then," Harley says reluctantly. He doesn't really want to pull away from Peter, would much rather stay here in this little corner with him for the rest of the night. He wants to try and find that moment again. A thought occurs to him though, and curiosity overtakes everything else. He reaches out and snags Peter's arm as Peter starts to walk away from their corner, tugging him back gently. "Wait, you're running _very_ late. You were supposed to go in with Tony, why were you still on the red carpet?" 

Peter glances around quickly, and then leans in to speak low. "Remember the security stuff we set up at Aunt May's after last time? Something tripped the alarms."

If he's being honest, Harley will admit he'd been hoping for Peter to say something like ' _I was waiting for you, Harley, and hoping that we could make out in one of the literal dozens of empty bedrooms in the mansion_.' This takes precedence, though, and significantly so - Peter - or, more accurately, _Spider-Man_ has been dealing with organized crime lately, the kind of stuff that he goes tight-lipped about most of the time because the less anyone else knows, the better.

"Last time was random," Harley says, just as quietly. "It was a run-of-the-mill break-in, it wasn't targeted. Can't this just be that? Unlucky?" The front door had been opened with a crowbar, the television and some halfway-valuable, easy-to-sell things stolen, timed so that no one was home. A routine smash-and-grab.

Peter chews on the corner of his lip, eyes scanning the foyer now. It's a nervous habit he has, Harley's noticed. The lip thing, and the looking for exits and possible threats. Tony does something similar, fidgeting with whatever's closest instead of chewing on his lip while he watches for exits and threats. Harley wonders if it's nature or nurture, considering Tony and Peter didn't know about their familial connection until a few years ago.

"I hope so," Peter finally says. The smile that stretches his mouth looks forced, the kind people wear when they're hoping to fake it until they make it. It's not reassuring in the slightest. "It's probably just bad luck."

"But?" Harley asks, even as they very slowly start to walk away from their corner.

"But," Peter admits, "she's staying at the Tower for the next few nights until I'm absolutely certain."

"I hope so," Peter finally says. The smile that stretches his mouth looks forced, the kind people wear when they're hoping to fake it until they make it. It's not reassuring in the slightest. "It's probably just bad luck."

"But?" Harley asks, even as they very slowly start to walk away from their corner.

"But," Peter admits, "she's staying at the Tower for the next few nights until I'm one hundred percent sure."

Harley can't help but smile, thinking of May. "You mean, until she has enough of our weird schedules and the superhero stuff and goes back in a week when you're only like eighty-five percent sure."

That gets a real smile out of Peter. "She does what she wants. Come on, Mr. Keener," he says. "I've distracted you from the Gala enough."

"You're my favorite distraction." It's an opening that Harley can't resist, so he adds, with a wink, "And, please. Call me Harley. No need to keep it professional." He enjoys the way that Peter's cheeks go red again, and lets himself be led into the shimmer and shine of the Winter Charity Gala.

The first night seems to go on for hours. Harley loses track of Peter, to his dismay. He makes his rounds to try and drum up business for the auction, turns down drinks he's not quite old enough for, and is introduced to people that he only hoped to meet one day. He sees a few of the other Avengers and SHIELD personnel that he knows from simply being around Tony, including the Black Widow in a devastating dress and up-do combination, and he's man enough to admit that he nearly passes out when she spots him and gives him what seems to be a genuine smile over her champagne glass.

Near the end of the night, as things are winding down, a hand slips through his arm to curl around the inside of his elbow. Harley turns, half-expecting to have to dissuade Bella Silver from ever touching him again, and finds Pepper at his side instead. It always strikes him how tall she is, especially now when she's in designer heels - he'd place money that, in heels, she's taller than he is. 

"You need to come with me," she says. The thing about Pepper is that she's got an excellent poker face in public situations, so Harley had _not_ been expecting that urgent of a tone. The other thing about Pepper is that you _don't argue_ with Pepper Potts, so Harley goes quickly and quietly.

She leads him out of the ballroom and past security, up the stairs to the second floor. When Harley gets to one of the sitting rooms there, he finds everyone else in the superhero world _and_ at the Gala already there, in various stages of work mode. Tony's standing behind the settee, the Black Widow's shoes are in her hand, and even Rhodey and Strange are there. Peter's on the settee, bow tie undone and hanging loose, glued to the television in front of him. 

Tony gestures Harley over and points at the TV. Harley takes one look, and leans on the back of the settee hard as his knees go a little weak, with a quiet but emphatic, "Oh, holy _shit_."

There, on the eleven o'clock news, is the breaking story: " _Stark protege Harley Keener confirmed as Spider-Man_."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second night of the Gala comes to a terrifying end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags added for this part are: Guns, Protective Peter Parker, and Creepy Behavior by an Original Character.

The press conference is a disaster.

For one thing, it's at seven in the morning, which means that Harley has to be awake and at least upright, if not semi-functional by five-thirty sharp, in order to be hustled into a nice suit and coached on what to say. The deck is already stacked pretty high against him, in Harley's opinion, because not only is he naturally _not_ a morning person, he's also running on maybe forty-five minutes of sleep total thanks to anxiety about this whole thing. 

"How do you survive these things?" Harley asks Tony when they're in the car on their way to the conference. 

He's repeatedly pushing the lock on the door down and pulling it back up again. Normally he'd be tapping at his phone to soothe the urge to fidget, scroll through social media or play some match-3 game, but after his second panic attack in two hours - or maybe it's the same panic attack? Maybe it's just one giant extended anxiety attack, Harley has no idea - May Parker had taken his phone and handed it to Peter, with instructions to field the news app notifications or at least set them so they didn't pop up on the screen. Harley's got the phone in his pocket again now, but he's a little gun-shy still. Doesn't help that he's got texts coming in left and right. His mother sure hadn't appreciated her phone ringing off the hook all night, but he'd gotten to have _that_ conversation the night before, at least, so she knew to deny and tell anyone who asked that "the quote in question was taken out of context and presented incorrectly to the media."

"I've been doing press conferences for literal decades," Tony replies. He's got his public persona on already, mirrored sunglasses down over his eyes like it's not winter and the sun is already up. Harley envies everything about him in this moment, from the perfectly pressed suit to the casual composure he's got going on, even though he knows Tony is wound up with stress as well and is just better at not showing it. 

Harley would give a lot of money and maybe an organ to look as relaxed as Tony does right now. "Okay, but what's the secret? Do you picture everyone in their underwear or something?" He wishes Peter were here, but it's probably best if they avoid anything Spider-Man being associated with Peter anywhere that they can.

Tony snorts and looks up from his phone. "Absolutely do _not_ start picturing people in their underwear. I had a couple of press conferences in my younger days where I tried that, which only fueled the 'degenerate playboy' thing." 

"Wow, okay." Harley pinches the bridge of his nose. "That was a mental image I didn't need, thank you."

"And if you do start picturing people in their underwear, because now that you're thinking of it, you might, thanks to the associations in your brain," Tony goes on, like Harley's said nothing at all. "But if you _do_ , make sure you do it behind the podium. And please, I beg you, don't look at Peter and picture him in his underwear while I'm in the room."

"Oh my god, please be quiet." 

"I don't ask for much, Harley, I really don't. I just ask that when you're blatantly crushing on _my son_ -"

"Stop talking, Tony."

"-who is an _adult_ , and I understand that-"

Harley groans. "I'm willing to negotiate the conditions of you _shutting up_."

"-all I really ask is that you keep it behind closed doors." 

"I," Harley says, with emphasis and meaning, "am going to _jump out of this car_ and make a run for it." He's not serious. He doesn't think he's serious? He might be serious.

Apparently, Tony has the same train of thought and grabs Harley's arm, presumably to keep him from leaping from the car while it's actually moving. "It's going to be fine," he says. "You've got the cards, I'm going to be there, _Pepper_ is there to step in if we completely screw up. It really can't go as badly as some of mine have gone, okay? We'll just get up there and explain that you're _not_ Spider-Man, and be home in time for breakfast."

Harley takes a deep breath. "Yeah. Okay, you're right, yeah."

The giant crowd in homemade and store-bought Spider-Man merch that Harley's got to fight his way through with the help of security is probably a clue that everything's about to go downhill. The protestors that line the other side of the walk are also more than likely a hint, but mostly they just make Harley stop because he's concerned about people who protest someone like _Spider-Man_. But Tony's done this before, Tony knows what he's talking about, and he's got the cue cards.

It's gonna be fine.

Two and a half hours later, when the cue cards have been forgotten on the podium and Harley's got a few considerably terrible quotes immortalized on film - not even taken out of context, this time - he thinks maybe he should take a vacation. Siberia is starting to look good, he decides as all hell breaks loose just as he's halfway to the car that's waiting for him, and the protestors start to clash with the fans. Yeah, maybe Siberia.

It takes them another hour to get out of the mobs of people around the car. Harley's transcended his anxiety completely at this point, in the way that he's just kind of staring out the window at what may actually be considered a riot, and Pepper's ended up in their car this time, simply because it was the closest. Her hair's still perfect, but she's rubbing at her temples as she stares at her phone. Tony looks like he's taking a nap to the untrained eye, but Harley knows better.

Once they're actually moving, back on their way to the Tower, Pepper puts her phone face down in her lap. "That could have gone better."

"That's putting it lightly." Harley needs some Advil and a stiff drink. A vacation to Siberia.

Tony shifts in his seat, spreads his hands. "I mean, I feel like it could have gone worse. A few of my conferences have definitely gone worse."

"Have any of yours started an honest-to-god riot?" Harley turns to look at Tony. 

Tony scoffs. "That? That wasn't a _riot,_ " he says. "That was a-a junior high food fight at best. It's fine, it'll be fine."

"Well, at least the bid for your date in the charity auction will be impressive." Pepper's looking at her phone again, tapping away and swiping between apps and conversations at a dizzying pace. "Assuming Bella Silver has a generous backer, of course."

A shudder of horror runs through Harley, followed by a spark of anger. "No. Absolutely not. One of us wouldn't survive the encounter, after the circus she just put me through." His fist is clenched against the leg of his pants. 

"Don't worry about that." Tony slides his mirrored glasses back down over his eyes as the mid-morning sun comes through. "I gave Peter some 'spending money' for the auction, I think we know who's going to win that date with you tomorrow night."

Harley feels his face heat. "Does Dr. Strange have enough to win _yours_?" He swears he hears a crack when Tony's head whips around to pin him with what he assumes is a shocked glare behind those glasses. Pity he can only see himself in them. "I mean, I'd hate for him to pout about it. Does he pout? Or is mysterious his default for everything?"

The sight of Tony fumbling his glasses off his face is worth every bit of the conversation Harley had to endure that morning about picturing Peter in his underwear. "You listen, there..." Tony stops, finger pointed at Harley like he's accusing him of something. Harley can't help but smile in spite of the disaster that this day has been. "I don't know what you _think_ you've figured out here, but-"

"Oh no, no, no," Harley says, ignoring Pepper's sigh at the two of them. "No, you got to talk about my, what did you call it? 'Blatant crush' on Peter, so it's _only fair_ -"

"I am his _father_."

"-that we take this opportunity to talk about how Stephen Strange keeps sneaking out of your room at ungodly hours in the morning -"

"He doesn't _sneak!_ Wait, you've _seen_ him?"

"-and, frankly, I'm offended on his behalf that you've got such a nice, esteemed wizard-"

"He's a _magician_ , not a wizard."

"- _sneaking_ around like some booty call."

Tony glares at Harley, jabbing a finger in his general vicinity. "I'm shipping you back to Tennessee," he says. "For your information, Stephen and I are taking it slow."

"No." Pepper doesn't even look up from her phone. "Harley and Peter are taking it slow. _You_ and Stephen are just afraid of commitment." The car comes to a stop as she pins the pair of them with a firm, no-nonsense look. " _No one_ is getting out of the Gala tonight. I don't care if the world itself is ending, it can wait until after. Be ready at six."

She exits the car with the helpful hand of Happy as Harley and Tony wince in unison. 

Harley skips the red carpet for the second night of the Gala, both because he might cry if he has to answer another question today and because he thinks he's done enough damage, honestly. He sneaks in through the gardens, which are closed off and unlit due to the cold of the New York winter. It doesn't save him, really, because as soon as he's inside and attempting to find Peter - who he hasn't seen all day, and he's a little annoyed about it - he finds himself cornered.

"Lot of excitement today, Harley," he hears behind him, just as he's ducked through the marked-off door to a balcony over the gardens to see if his favorite spider is avoiding the crowd as well. 

There's nowhere to run here, not unless he wants to jump down and hope he lands on something soft. He grits his teeth and takes a deep breath before he turns, forcing that charming smile on his face as he goes. "Ms. Silver. You've caught me at a bad time, I'm afraid."

"Oh, we're not on the clock," Bella says. Her dress tonight is still covered in silver sequins, but shorter, hair in a high ponytail and silver glitter dusted across her cheeks. "I'm not here for an interview. I just wanted to catch a moment with you." Now that Peter's made the comment about Bella being a shark, Harley can't stop thinking about it, seeing it in her sharp smile. "How are you holding up? It's a huge media frenzy."

Harley folds his hands behind his back so that she can't see him clench his fingers together tightly, even as she steps a little closer. "This area isn't open to the public," he says, quiet and controlled.

"You were really lashing out today at that press conference," Bella goes on, still coming closer. "Said some awful things, Harley, I'm _hurt_."

"What do you _want_?" Harley finally hisses, friendly expression dropping. "That quote you have? The clip? It's doctored, and you know it."

"I really feel like we got off to a rocky start." Bella's in his space now, and Harley resists the urge to back away. "You're right, I did doctor the clip. I know you're not Spider-Man." Her hand is cold through his dress shirt when she places it on his chest. He gives in and steps back. She doesn't follow this time, but he's got his back to the balcony railing now. "But I'm willing to take it back. I'll come out and admit it was all a lie, if you can do one little thing for me."

"I'm not the one to ask if you want money," Harley snaps. 

The glitter in her cheeks catches the lights from inside as she shakes her head with a delicate little laugh. "Oh, I don't want money, Harley, I have plenty of that. I want to win the auction." 

Harley stares, unable to find the words to properly express his feelings.

"You can rig it," she goes on. "All I want is one date tomorrow night, and all of this can go away by tomorrow morning."

"This is about a _date_?" Harley finally manages. He's so angry he can't think straight. "Are you kidding?"

"I just want to get to know you better," Bella says, patronizing. She opens her mouth to go on, but a throat clearing interrupts. 

Harley looks up, just as she turns, and is so relieved at what he finds that he could cry. "Ms. Silver," Peter says, from only a few steps away, just through the doorway to the balcony. "I'm afraid this area is off-limits. I'm going to have to ask you to return to the designated areas." He's tense, Harley can see from here, and there's no hint of a polite smile on his face. Peter is pissed, plain and simple. 

"You, again?" Bella glances back at Harley. "Peter Parker, right? You have the _strangest_ ability to show up at just the right time." She pats Harley on the cheek before he can jerk away, and then turns to head back to the party, through the door. "Think about it, Harley, let me know!" 

Harley doesn't relax until she's through the door and around the corner, the click of her heels fading away as she goes. "Did you hear that?" he says, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. "Or, well. Did you get that, at least?"

"Yeah," Peter says, stepping closer now that Bella's gone. He reaches and starts undoing the buttons on Harley's shirt, and Harley lets his hands fall away. Normally, he'd be over the moon about Peter working to undress him. At the moment, he's just anxious to get the wire off of his chest, as small as it is. 

"She almost smacked her palm into it." Harley feels Peter carefully peel the little microphone away and looks down just in time to see Peter's mouth thin into a tight line. Peter starts to do up Harley's buttons again - Harley lays his hands over Peter's, stilling them. Peter looks up at him. "Peter, I'm okay," Harley says quietly. "She's petty and annoying, but she's not dangerous."

Peter's face does something complicated. "You've got glitter on your cheek," he says, and pulls one hand out from under Harley's to swipe at his cheekbone, just under his eye. His thumb lingers, fingers cradling Harley's cheek.

It's intimate, this moment, in a way they've never been before - they've been close, sure. Touched. Hugged, flirty little touches to arms and shoulders and hair. But _this_ , this is something that someone could see and get an idea - Harley's not sure if it would be the _wrong_ idea, exactly, but an idea nonetheless.

"Something about her sets me on edge." Peter sounds like he's choosing his words carefully, not stumbling over them in his haste to get them right. "Sends my Spidey-Sense haywire, especially when she..." He falters, then. "When she's too close to you."

Harley swallows. An empty balcony above a dark garden in a sprawling mansion, and they're in just a small pocket of it, Harley's hands warm on Peter's while they share space. This can be their moment if Harley takes it, he thinks.

"I want you to win my date," he says in a rush. "I don't want to spend tomorrow night with anyone else, wishing I could ditch them and find you."

Peter's thumb moves on Harley's cheek, and even as Peter looks down, Harley can see him breaking into a smile. "Harley." Just his name, and then Peter stops, eyes coming back up. Harley's holding his breath. "I already put my bid in, courtesy of Tony. I really don't think anyone's going to be able to beat me, considering he literally just wrote 'blank check' and signed my initials for me."

"It's kind of creepy because he's your father, but I'm liking the sentiment." Harley's smiling too. "So, tomorrow night. You, me, dancing until our feet fall off?"

"Maybe," Peter replies. "Or, you know. We could just." He gestures with the hand that's still not completely done up the buttons on Harley's shirt. "Hang out? Without the formal clothes."

Ah, there's the awkward boy Harley knows and adores. "You buy _one_ date and think you can get me out of my clothes, Parker?" he teases, just to see Peter blush all the way to the tips of his ears. "Yeah, we can disappear from the Gala tomorrow night. It's _your_ date, whatever you want."

"I haven't officially won yet." Peter looks a little sheepish. "I feel mean that Bella just asked you to rig the auction... and I rigged the auction instead."

"Yeah, but this way, the money's still going to a good cause, she's not just winning because she's blackmailing me." Harley reaches up and pulls Peter's hand from his cheek. "Besides, does it count as rigging it if we start tonight?"

"That argument makes no sense," Peter says, but he's leaning up, and Harley's leaning down.

"Hey, Forever Young! Suit up, we've got - Oh, what's this? Have I _interrupted_ something?"

They freeze. Peter lets out a frustrated groan, and Harley squeezes his eyes shut in a grimace for just a moment until he's gathered his courage enough to look past Peter at the doorway of the balcony. 

"Peter," Tony says, drawing his name out. His arms are crossed, but his eyes are twinkling. "Are you two playing hooky from this very important fancy party in order to make out on the balcony?"

Harley can't help but grin. "No, we hadn't made it that far yet."

He kind of revels in the little shudder and eyeroll that gets him from Tony. "Yuck, that's my _son_ , could you _please_ contain yourself?" Tony's expression shifts to something more serious, that has even Harley straightening. "Pete, we've got something going on in Central Park. Meet you there. Chop, chop!" Tony gives them a nod and then turns to head back the way he come, probably to leave the Gala in some classic, flashy Iron Man style. "Oh, and Harley? Fix your shirt, kid."

Peter pulls away. Maybe Harley's imagining it, but Peter feels reluctant, like he'd rather be in this moment with Harley on the balcony than anywhere else in the world. "Sorry," Peter says, like it's his fault that something weird is happening in New York again. 

"Don't be sorry," Harley replies, reaching up to actually finish doing up his shirt. Now that he's not focused on Peter, he realizes that it's winter and he's _cold_ like this. "Go on, duty calls."

Peter looks out over the garden, and then he's climbing the railing of the balcony. It's not a long drop, and Harley knows that Peter's done much, much worse, but it's still a little startling. Startling enough, in fact, that Peter can dart in and kiss him on the cheek before Harley's even realized that he's moved. "Hold that thought," Peter says, and then he's dropping from the balcony and disappearing into the gardens, all while Harley's still lifting his hand to cover where Peter kissed him, like a heroine in a Jane Austen novel. 

The auction is postponed due to "whatever's going on in the Park," as Happy helpfully informs Harley, holding the door open for him as he gets into the car. Harley's tired, the day catching up to him, so he just nods and rests his head back against the seat, popping the little compartment provided to grab a pair of headphones. He sets up his playlist and pulls up the news, strangely glad that the "Ruckus in Central Park!" as the headline says, is enough to push his own mishaps of the day a little farther down the page. 

After about ten minutes of scrolling and relaxing in the safety of Happy's careful driving, Harley looks up to glance out the window. He doesn't recognize the buildings going by - or, well, he does, but this isn't their usual way back to the Tower at all. Maybe the Central Park thing has spilled over and Happy's going around it.

He pulls out his headphones, looks down to pause the music. "Hey, Happy, where are..." Harley trails off as he looks up toward the driver's seat of the car.

That's not Happy in the driver's seat, and god only knows who's in the front passenger's seat.

Harley goes for the door handle, fumbling with his seatbelt as he prepares to dive out of the car, calculating his chances of injury at this speed. He gets the door open and the buckle released, only to be forcibly yanked back by the collar of his shirt, top button ripping off and pinging somewhere into the dark car. 

Something cold and decidedly metal is shoved up against his jaw. "Close the door, Mr. Keener."

The man who had been sitting in the passenger's seat is twisted across the console, one hand with a tight grip on Harley's shirt and the other holding a gun to Harley's head. Harley swallows and pulls the door closed again, then releases the handle to hold his hands up.

"Roll down the window," the man says. Harley looks out of the corner of his eye, fumbling with the button, but finally getting it down. "Good. Now throw your phone out." Harley bites out a swear, and does as he's told. He doesn't hear it clatter on the pavement as they drive away, but he knows it does - it's a StarkPhone, so the glass won't shatter and it shouldn't break, but Harley doesn't know where he's going to end up. At least the GPS tracker in the phone will get them here, and he hopes that's enough.

The gun eases up, as does the man's hold on Harley's shirt. He shifts into the backseat, and at the moment, Harley is wishing that it weren't such a luxury, roomy car. The gun is still in Harley's direction, threat clear, even if it's not pressed to his cheek anymore.

"Where's Happy?" Harley demands.

"If I were you, Mr. Keener, I would be more concerned about myself," the man says.

Well, Harley thinks, swallowing hard. That's not reassuring at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley's been kidnapped. Peter doesn't take that too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fun project for me! I really did have a blast writing it and working with Peter and Harley - I'm afraid that they're both out of character, simply because they're characters I haven't written often. I think Harley Keener may have just become one of my favorite Marvel characters, though.
> 
> I did very suddenly remember the short Peter's To-Do List last night, which I can't believe I forgot about. So I guess, uh, this isn't canon with that? Oops.
> 
> Thanks so much for such a blast this year, MCU Christmas Exchange!

Harley's not sure this suit is going to survive the night.

There's a sleeve of the suit jacket with a slice through it from what turned out to be a terrifyingly sharp pocket knife, the shirt itself is missing the top two buttons (one lost in the car, one lost in the scuffle of getting Harley _out_ of the car), and there's a small hole in the right knee from Harley hitting the gravel of the parking lot. There are some scratches on his palms from that same impact, and a radiating, aching pain from his knees that tell him he's been pretty well bruised too.

In all honesty, Harley's not sure he's going to survive the night, either.

Harley's never been kidnapped before. Turns out that it's a lot less exciting than he thought it would be, except for the escape attempt in the parking lot, of course. It's also becoming less terrifying by the moment - maybe that's because nothing has actually happened in the last couple of hours. It's still awful and Harley's scared, yes, but terrifying? Not so much anymore. That'll probably change.

"I feel like you guys got lazy," he says to the pair of guys that are guarding him. They have guns, but Harley's figured out that they want him alive and relatively unharmed, so it's less of a threat than it probably could be. "Tied to a rickety chair in the middle of an empty warehouse with some generic suited gunmen? That's gotta be, what, Unit 2 in the Kidnapping 101 textbook?" 

So far these particular two generic suited gunmen, the same from the car, haven't actually responded to him, but they're starting to look more than a little annoyed. Harley's not sure what his plan here is, if he's being honest - he just knows that people who are annoyed or distracted (say, by someone running their mouth) tend to make mistakes. After that, he's not sure. 

There are some other generic suited gunmen throughout the warehouse, as well. It's not even completely empty, because there very obviously used to be some kind of machinery here. An acrid, chemical scent is still hanging in the air, and there are marks on the floor, empty chairs and tables and crates. Harley knows the smell of a workshop, but he's not exactly finding it comforting in this moment. The skylights above aren't helping, because he can see that there are just more generic suited gunmen on the roof.

"Are we waiting for someone, here?" Harley's been working at the rope around his wrists for the entire time, and the skin is starting to feel a little raw, shoulders aching from the pull of them being bound behind the chair. But he'd tensed when they'd tied him, as much as he could, so it's loose enough that if he has enough time, he might be able to work it enough to slip free. They hadn't bothered with his feet - he's got the feeling they don't think he's much of a threat. "I'm just saying, if this is an interrogation, you're not very good at it. No offense, of course, but you'll never learn if you don't get feedback."

"You're pretty mouthy, you know that?" one of the generic suited gunmen finally cracks and says. He doesn't come any closer from where he's been sitting in what looks like a far more comfortable folding chair than the one Harley's in. Harley's chair is a cheap wooden kitchen chair with a weird green fabric seat that looks like it came straight out of a kitchen in 1973. "You sure you're not Spider-Man? 'Cause you sound like him. You're both a little too much of a smartass for your own good." He grins, in that kind of sinister way people have when they know something important that you don't, and they're not going to share. "That'll get you killed one day, Mr. Keener. Him too. You should probably tell him when you see him later."

"Yeah, I'll be sure to deliver the message," Harley says, clenching his bound fists. "So that's who we're waiting for?"

"Nah. With the mess in Central Park, I doubt your _boyfriend's_ even noticed you're missing."

The warehouse is heated, but Harley feels a chill nonetheless as the guy's words really sink in. There's no way he means Peter, Harley tells himself. There's nothing that ties Peter to Spider-Man, is there? Nothing except...

Except Harley's association with him. 

This whole Harley being Spider-Man mess is starting to look a lot more targeted. A little more sinister. The wheels in Harley's head start turning as he slowly, carefully tugs at the ropes. When the side-door to the warehouse opens, with a rush of cold air, he doesn't even have to look to know who it is. He'd recognize the sound of those heels anywhere.

"Ms. Silver," he says, turning his head to face her as the generic suited gunmen straighten up, hurrying to stand. "Organized crime doesn't suit you."

"I really think we're past being professional, Harley," Bella says. She's changed out of her formal dress, but she's still sparkly - glitter still on her face and her dark jacket trimmed in rhinestones. Her dark hair is still back in that high ponytail, and the heels on her boots are a little more practical than what she'd been wearing when she'd cornered Harley on the balcony only hours before. There's a gun in a holster strapped to her thigh. "This would have been a _lot_ easier if you had just agreed to rig the auction, you know. There wouldn't have been any need for guns or tackling you in the parking lot. You would have just gotten to make out with me for the entire time. Or at least until we got here."

Harley wants to scream, but settles for rolling his eyes. "You really need to learn how to take a hint. I'm _gay._ And even if I weren't, you're pushy, and also apparently a criminal."

"Well, I didn't know _that_ until earlier." Bella turns to the two generic suited gunmen who have been keeping Harley company. "You two, take everyone and get in position. The guest of honor should be arriving anytime." They move off with muttered, respectful agreement. Bella takes a seat on one of the folding chairs that have just been vacated, crossing her legs so that the leg with the holstered handgun is clearly on display. "Comfortable, Harley?"

"Not really," Harley replies. "This chair's got a leg loose, it's driving me nuts. So, are we going to talk about the organized crime thing?"

Bella laughs - he's heard the sound before in various interviews and at functions, but it's decidedly creepier when it's echoing through a warehouse. They're alone completely, Harley realizes. The rest of the generic suited gunmen have gone have gone outside. The situation has gone back to terrifying, now that it's just the two of them. He swallows.

"I guess you really are a genius. How'd you figure out who I really was?" 

That gives Harley a moment of pause. "Are you... _not_ Bella Silver? It's just... this was pretty obviously a counterfeit operation not too long ago, and you've got the guys in suits with guns, so all signs are pointing to organized crime here." He shifts, shrugging as much as he can, and feels the chair wobble again. He's not sure he's going to be able to get his hands free in time for it to matter. "It still smells like dye and chemicals in here."

"Let me make it a little easier for you, Harley." She uncrosses her legs to stand, coming to stand in front of him. Harley's gonna admit, the way Bella keeps saying his name is starting to freak him out a little. It's got to be deliberate, but he's not sure there's an actual reason behind it. "Bella Silver isn't my original name. My name is Isabella _Manfredi_."

Harley... has no idea what that means. "Okay," he says after a moment. "I feel like you were going for some kind of big reveal there. I don't know what that means."

"It's - my last name was _Manfredi_. Like the _Manfredi_ Crime Family. I'm the illegitimate daughter of the leader of the Manfredi Crime Family." She actually looks a little offended. Harley doesn't feel bad about that at all.

"Oh." Yeah, Harley's not going to be able to get his hands free. There has to be another way. "Okay, well. That explains the counterfeiting, but... I don't know anything about the Manfredi Crime Family."

"Spider-Man does," Bella says, and she's smiling again like they'd never had the little hiccup in her villainous monologue about her name. "Spider-Man's been a thorn in my father's side these past few months, and when I hand him over? Then I can prove to the Family that I'm so much more than just my father's dirty little secret."

There's the sudden crack of gunshots, followed by the unmistakable sounds of repulsors firing, and Harley starts and twists like he can see through the walls, heart in his throat. He knows that's Tony, at least, and he'd bet that-

"Ah." Bella's heels click as she walks on the concrete floor to stand behind Harley, too close. "Speaking of dirty little secrets." There's a hand on his shoulder suddenly, and he jerks away from her only to realize that she's got her gun out, pressed to his temple. He swallows, and goes still as he can feel her fingers gripping tight through the fabric of his ruined suit jacket.

More gunfire, more repulsors. There's a thump from somewhere inside the warehouse. 

"I really, really hope you didn't go this far just to get an interview."

Harley has to admit it - he's pretty relieved to see Peter, and not just because he's in trouble. He also has to admit that there's a part of him that's wishing Peter had stayed far, far away from him, because he's the reason that Peter's here in the first place. 

Except it's not really Peter in front of him right now. It's Spider-Man, dangling from ceiling upside-down. 

"She knows who you are," Harley says in a rush, even as Bella starts to dig her fingernails in with the grip she's got on his shoulder. "She thought it was me first. Didn't you, Bella? Until the alarms tripped, and I was where I was supposed to be. Until then, you thought that you were going after someone important to Spider-Man's boyfriend... not to Spider-Man himself."

He can practically _hear_ Bella trying to figure out how Harley knew. "The personal assistant wasn't," she finally says, slow like she's annoyed that Harley's beat her to the big reveal, or something. "I had it backwards at first. Then you said that little joke of yours, the assistant was late, and this whole plan fell right into my lap."

"Were you going for irony when you brought him to the warehouse that I helped clear out a couple of weeks ago?" Spider-Man says. 

Harley wonders what the suit, what Karen is telling him right now. He rocks in the chair just a little, hisses when Bella's fingers move to his neck to dig her nails in there instead, a warning. "Told you this chair was uncomfortable, Ms. Silver - sorry, Ms. Manfredi." He gets a little enjoyment out of stealing that reveal from her too. "Hey, Spidey, you know anything about a Manfredi Crime Family? Bella's some guy's daughter."

"Oh, I'm familiar with that family," Spider-Man says. "Bella, are you the black sheep or something? Because I've been to your family's criminal reunions and Silvermane doesn't talk about you at _all_."

"Enough!" Bella snaps. Harley winces as the gun presses a little harder to his forehead. "You're going to take your mask off, Spider. You're going to tell the whole world you who are, on _my camera_. I'm going to be the one who's credited with discovering Spider-Man's true identity, and then I'm going to deliver you to Silvermane so he can see for himself."

"Camera?" Spider-Man turns his head, looking around. "You got one set up already?" 

"Yes!" The gun leaves Harley's temple just long enough for Bella to gesture in a direction, but the only movement he dares make is the rock of the stupid loose leg on the chair. "It's been recording this whole time, I set the feed up on my phone so I'll have everything _instantly_."

"And what happens if I don't?" 

The gun's back at Harley's head. "Then I shoot your boyfriend Harley here."

"So, just to be completely clear," Spider-Man says, and Harley may love him a little, because he knows what's going on and how they're going to get out of this now. "First, you thought Harley Keener was Spider-Man, so you broke into an apartment associated with Tony Stark's personal assistant to try and prove it. Then, when you couldn't, you doctored a clip you got at the Gala of him making a _joke_ about being Spider-Man to make it look like he was actually confessing to it. So now you think that he's _actually_ Spider-Man's boyfriend, so you set up a huge diversion in Central Park with the Manfredi Crime Family, so that you could _kidnap_ Harley Keener _for_ the Manfredi Crime Family, because you're Silvermane's secret daughter. And now you're going to kill him if I don't take off my mask. Do I have that right?"

"That's exactly what I did," Bella snaps. "They call you a genius, but I've outsmarted you here, Spider-Man. Take off your mask, or I'll kill him."

"Huh," Spider-Man says. "That's not gonna work for me."

Bella pauses. "What? No, you don't understand, I will-"

The moment comes, and Harley shifts his weight _hard._ The loose leg of the rickety chair gives way and he crashes down to the concrete floor. The sudden movement, added in with the grip Bella still has on him and her heels sends her down as well, hands flying out to catch herself. A well-placed web keeps her hand pinned to the warehouse floor, and another snatches the gun from her suddenly-lax grip.

"And cut," Spider-Man calls, just as the warehouse doors burst open to let a mixture of SHIELD agents and police in, led by Iron Man and Dr. Strange. "Hope you smiled for the camera as we got your confession, Ms. Manfredi."

Bella just groans as Harley manages to shift away from her in the remnants of the chair. In only a moment, Peter's there, deft fingers untying his hands and rubbing gently at the marks the ropes left behind. 

"We got this," Iron Man - Tony - says, and aims a repulsor at Bella like the showoff that he loves to be. Just in case she gets any ideas, Harley guesses. "If you would like to accompany Mr. Keener to find my personal assistant. I've informed NYPD that he won't be giving a statement until he's been checked out by medical, and only if my assistant is accompanying him."

"Sure thing, Mr. Stark," Peter says - and it is Peter now, which is maybe a strange differentiation to make. But Harley's starting to learn the differences between Spider-Man and Peter Parker, just like he's learned that there's no difference between Iron Man and Tony Stark at all. "If you'll come with me, Mr. Keener."

Harley's expecting to go through the door and get in a car. Instead, he gets Peter Parker wrapping an arm around his waist and whispering, "Hold on, Harls," in his ear. He gets his own arms around Peter's neck, and then they're going up, toward the ceiling, out to the roof through the skylight that Peter came in through. "Super-strength," Peter says when Harley makes a surprised sound. "I won't drop you."

And he doesn't.

When they get to the roof of the Tower and into the elevator, Harley's hair is wind-ruffled and he's in a strange sort of haze driven by exhausted amazement. New York from the ground was impressive in itself, but New York while in the air, holding onto Peter, was _incredible_. 

"Is that what you see every day?" Harley asks after Peter tells FRIDAY to head for the common floor, the one with the living spaces that they all share between their own suites. 

"Uh, the kidnapping in the warehouse part or the flying through the city part?"

Harley grins, leaning against the wall of the elevator heavily. "Don't be a smartass, you know what I meant. The flying part."

When he pulls his mask over his head and off, Peter's hair is messy too. "Yeah, that's what I see," he says, eyes looking over Harley. He reaches out and curls his gloved hand over the cut in Harley's suit.

It's no thought at all for Harley to turn his hand over, wrap around Peter's arm, and tug him closer. "I'm okay," he says when Peter obliges. "Just a little bruised up, that's all. You saved me. My hero."

"I just helped," Peter replies, and leans in, presses his forehead to Harley's shoulder. "You did the thing with the chair so she'd lose her balance. I had a plan, Tony got into the feed from her camera. But you had everything under control."

"Yeah, well, I _am_ a genius." The elevator's stopped, but FRIDAY hasn't mentioned it yet. "Hey, I think I was holding a thought for you."

Peter goes still for a second before he's lifting his head. Harley meets him halfway, and the kiss is everything that Harley's ever wanted from one Peter Parker. As far as moments go, Harley figures, this is probably the most perfect he's going to get. Or maybe the moment after this one, when he kisses Peter for the second time.

When the doors finally open and FRIDAY finally says something, they break away and step into the living room. 

"So," Harley says, looking over at Peter. "You think we'll need to kidnap Strange for he and Tony to get it together?"

Peter snorts. "Right? Could they be _any_ more obvious about it?"

Or maybe, Harley thinks as Peter comes to kiss him again, the perfect moments are all the ones that they're going to have after this one.


End file.
